Another Life
by Mimitrixie
Summary: QuinnTana Quinn Fabray is in an unhappy marriage and seeks comfort in her best friend, Santana. Set in the 1910s and inspired by The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters. TW: Domestic abuse, rape
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The worn floor dried in patches as Quinn Fabray's old horsehair brush passed over it again and again. She postured up and sighed exhaustedly, surveying the room from her low vantage point. Halfway there. Pale blonde wisps of hair fell across her white forehead as she bent once more to the wooden boards. She had been cleaning for a good half hour already and the sun was going down. The birds had stopped chirping long ago and her candle pooled in a waxy heap in its stand on the shelf. Her husband would be home soon. Puck. She scoffed at the thought. These days he was less of a husband and more like a sack of potatoes. Though her outward demeanour was always one of grace and civility, Quinn longed desperately for an escape. Another life in another place. How she envied her best friend Santana's lifestyle. A liberal woman and proud of it- bound to be a spinster. The townsfolk always spread rumours in hushed whispers across the Sunday church pews. She was never there to hear them, of course, but she knew what they said. Quinn never took notice, though. She cared for Santana no matter what. Best friends for life are what they had always been. The sound of heavy boots came from just outside. "That'll be Puck" she mumbled to herself. Her stomach churned every time she heard him coming, but she plastered on a smile and rose to greet him as the door creaked open. "Hi, honey," she said in a voice sweet as honey as she moved to take his hat and coat.

"Dinner ready?" Puck grumbled, barely looking up. He pulled a chair out from the small table in the corner, scraping it across the freshly scrubbed floor and threw himself into it. Quinn suppressed the anger bubbling in her chest.

"Of course, dear. Your favourite." She said, placing a dish piled high with food in front of him. He dug in immediately without so much as a thanks to his wife. "How was your day?" Quinn asked cautiously, only half-expecting an answer. She knew not to talk to him straight after work. It never ended well. She absentmindedly touched the bruise on her cheek from the week before. Sitting across the table she felt so small compared to him. Watching him eat was disgusting and in her mind, she compared him to an angry bear. Puck ignored her entirely, stopping occasionally only to belch. Quinn sat in quiet resentment, wishing she could smack some sense into him. He finished eating, pushed his empty plate towards his wife and grunted in acknowledgement: the closest thing to kindness she ever got from him. She whisked away the dishes and proceeded to fill the sink and tend the fire while Puck tossed his boots aside and grabbed his newspaper. His seat by the hearth became occupied and soon the only noise to be heard was the occasional rustle of the Lima Gazette in his hands. The evening ticked by while Quinn finished up her daily chores and Puck his newspaper- but not before falling asleep briefly halfway through. The two spent the quiet hours preparing for bed and with each tick of the mantle clock, Quinn's dread grew stronger. She knew what was to come with sundown almost every night and all she could do was pray that Puck was too tired to bother this time. Her hope was to no avail tonight, though.

"Get over here" Puck barked suddenly, gesturing to the bed in front of him. Quinn held in a sigh and skulked over while she braced herself. "I said now!" he hollered "And get that look off your face, you should be thanking me for even touching you, Bitch". She flinched at the harsh words and quickened her pace around the bedframe to stand in the space in front of her husband. With no tenderness he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her onto their bed, crawling on top of her like a stalking tiger. His calloused hands bunched up the hem of her dress around her waist and undid his own belt, all the while his beer-scented breath crashed upon Quinn's neck. She stifled a gag and her moss-green eyes welled with tears when he flipped her and penetrated her with no warning. Quinn squeezed her eyes shut in pain and disassociated until it was over.

The rooster crowed at 6am and Quinn stirred in her sleep, blinking awake slowly. The memory of the night before came rushing back and she shook herself out of the wave of depression that followed. Swinging her bare feet around and pressing them to the cold wooden floor woke her up further. It felt good to be grounded again. She glanced behind her and saw empty sheets. Her husband must be at work already- thank God. Quinn stood up and stretched, letting the golden rays of sunrise cascade over her through slats in the window shades. Pulling off her nightgown and slipping into a clean lavender dress was the first small joy of the day. Once her hair was pinned up neatly, she hurried about getting ready for the day: setting the fire, boiling the water, collecting the eggs and trimming the candles. A quick scratch on the head was given in passing to her dog, Max and he wagged his tail contentedly. Max was an old thing, all black and scruffy and damn near blind, but he was loyal and aside from Santana and the ladies from church, he was Quinn's only solace. She often found herself absentmindedly talking to him when she was lonely. He listened and never judged, and she was grateful for it. It was her birthday and Quinn wanted to get some air, so she eagerly wriggled her matching purple shoes on and grabbed a basket of scones. A quick whistle to Max bade him to her side and the two set off on the dirt path towards the town. The middle of Autumn was her favourite time of year; she loved to watch the leaves change from green to yellow to brown. It reminded her of the impermanence of life, and somehow that was comforting. After stopping at the post office to mail some correspondence and the market to pick up more grain for the chickens, she decided to drop by Santana's place in search of an invigorating cup of tea and a consoling chat with her closest friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Max trotted alongside her as she walked down a small side lane in the town centre. The street was lined with shrivelled black cherry trees now, but in Spring the road became blanketed in pink and white petals. It looked like snow and smelled like heaven and Quinn envied Santana for living in such a beautiful place. The path was hardly worn, but at least the house was surrounded by forest. "Seclusion and tranquility" she said to Max idly "How I want all this someday". Of course, he didn't respond, he only gazed up at her with his tongue hanging out and she chuckled quietly at his candour. Before she could even reach the front door, she heard banging and crashing from inside and the door swung open. A dishevelled Santana appeared with a grin; a paintbrush in one hand and the other trying to tame her glossy dark brown locks.

"Hey, Quinnie! Come in, I'll make some tea" the petite Latina sung, bustling back inside out of sight. Smiling to herself before stepping over the threshold, Quinn entered the adorable cottage and Max bounded in after her. The house was a sight to behold as always: The floor was covered in a rainbow of paint splotches and mismatched furniture was dotted around the room haphazardly. Santana rushed around like a human tornado prepping a tray for the two girls. Quinn always described the home as "organised chaos" and today was no different. The kitchen table was piled high with unfinished paintings and used teacups, so she elected to sit elsewhere. She sunk into a huge blue armchair and kicked her shoes off, making herself at home while Santana prattled on about her latest artistic endeavour. "I decided to try using oil paints this time, but it's not going very smoothly" she finished while setting the chipped tray down on her old oak table. Quinn placed her basket of scones beside it and Santana cooed at the sight, snagging one immediately. The two proceeded to eat and drink in companionable silence and shared gossip and news every so often until Quinn chimed in.

"I wish I never had to go home, Tana. He's so awful! Why can't I have freedom and peace like you?" she trailed off, defeated.

"I hear you, Quinnie. You know I would help if I could but I'm already in the bad books of society after last year's scandal, remember? Besides, you're brave, so keep that pretty chin up. I'm here for you." Santana shuffled closer from her spot on the floor and reached up, tucking back a strand of hair that had shaken itself loose in her commotion. Her hand moved to Quinn's face and she tilted her chin up with the crook of her finger. Their eyes met and Quinn felt a calmness as if time had stood still. She swallowed her brimming tears and sniffed.

"I'm so grateful to you, Santana. Nobody has a better best friend." The two chuckled at their shared sappiness and quieted once more. Quinn glanced at the huge crudely painted grandfather clock across the room and jumped up in shock. "Shit!" she yelled. It was 4pm already. She yanked her shoes back on and said a quick goodbye to Santana, kissing her on the cheek and rushing out the door. Max followed close behind after giving Santana a wet lick on the hand. The sun was going down and the birds were settling. Quinn picked up her pace on the dirt path home, praying to all deities that Puck didn't finish work early. As she approached her property, she straightened her dress and caught her breath. Smoke billowed from the small chimney and her stomach turned. He was home. She stopped for a moment with her hand on the doorknob, then entered with that famous fake smile once more.


End file.
